February 24, 2022

This was the day that Russia broadened the war it began against Ukraine in 2014 to an all-out assault on Ukraine and the west, as a calculated effort to overthrow the rules-based world order and reverse decades of Russian decline.

For me, it was much more personal than that.  My now wife and then girlfriend lived with her mom, brother, and sister and law just northwest of Kyiv, not far from Hostomel, the airfield where the monster Antonov transport plane was stationed and a primary target for Russian forces coming down from Belarus to attack Kyiv.

On the morning of the Russian invasion, I saw my wife and she told me that, having seen Russian helicopters flying by, had moved from their top floor rooms down to stay at a friend's place on the ground floor of their building.  That was the day I first became a twitter addict, as the newest information was flowing quickly, and messaging into Kyiv was not always easy. Obviously I look to many places for my news, especially as time goes by.

The morning of the 25th, two things happened.  My sister in law's company had a continuity of operations plan involving moving the workers and their families to Lviv.  They were told that they had one hour to get from their location to a bus station on the southern side of the city, some 20km away.  And I left my apartment in Alexandria, VA, headed south to my dad's house in Newport News, convinced that the Russian attack would end with a situation where I would need to be home to take care of my family there.  I was convinced that there was no way that my wife would make the rendezvous with the escape bus, so I spent my 2.5 hour drive talking to friends in Poland and Hungary about how much it would cost to take a car, and possibly some "friends" with certain skills, into Ukraine to get them out.  Interestingly, Poles offered a car and Hungarians, contacts with "friends."  

Just as I was wrapping up those calls, I got a message from my wife.  On deserted streets, and with no public transport moving, they somehow got a taxi and made it to the meeting point, dodging two Russian light assault vehicles on the way.  The bus was leaving.  But now, the next stage of the drama began.  The straight path from Kyiv to Lviv, through Zhitomir, was already patrolled by Russian vehicles, so it would be a cross country run, meaning some hours of silence.  So I spent the rest of the day with my dad making sure that they had food and supplies laid in, finally hearing that night that my Ukrainian family had made it to Lviv.  Instead of direct attacks, they would "only" suffer from air raids and missile strikes now.

The main thread of this story, the "what next," will be continued in a later post.  The summary is that I found a way to get the women of the family out, and marry my wife later in the year, while my mother and sister and law found refuge in France, and my wife with dear friends in Switzerland while we worked on her visa.  My brother-in-law joined the Ukrainian Army in Lviv and, short of two brief periods of leave, has been near the front since late spring of 2020.  

Sadly, the war goes on.  Innocents die.  Congress dawdles.  If France had acted this way during America's own war for independence against an abusive power, we would all be speaking with British accents today.  The job must be finished. History demands it.